


Vault 22

by knives4cash



Series: A Courier of Creation [2]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Adventure, Choose Your Own Character, Gen, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 06:32:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knives4cash/pseuds/knives4cash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>More details concerning the Courier's agendas are revealed as the Courier and Boone venture into Vault 22 to find the missing piece of more than one person's plan. Incomplete. Highly unlikely of being completed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vault 22

**Author's Note:**

> I slaved over this for a LOOONG time. I had such an elaborate and thought-through story in mind. Unfortunately, stuff happened, and with Fallout 4 coming, my window to remain relevant is almost shut. 
> 
> So, I give you an incompleted second part to a would-be trilogy.

Vault 22

Some months before the Courier’s battle for Hoover Dam

 

Motor-Runner considered himself a pretty capable leader. He also considered himself to be a pretty intelligent leader. He kept his people out of Westside, most of the time. He was also able to keep his people in line with the Great Khans, and his followers had never tried to overthrow him. His dogs loved him, at least, he was pretty sure they loved him. It’s hard to remember everything that happens inside a vault when you’ve got so many chems lying around. 

And yet, despite all of the crazy shit that he had been through, this day was looking to be the craziest one in a long, long time. Before him stood a figure armored up on a custom set of black camouflage Power Armor. Said figure was apparently not a Great Khan here to sell chems, and apparently said figure managed to talk his men into granting an audience with him.

The Courier quickly examined the Fiend leader, power armor helmet concealing any displays of disgust. “You Motor-Runner?”

“I am. You’re not a Great Khan?”

The Courier knocked on the custom armor that was being worn. “Do Great Khans usually wear Power Armor?”

He scoffed. “Alright, smartass, I’ll bite. Who the hell are you?”

The Courier quickly struck an overly dramatic pose. “I, Mr. Motor-Runner, am a courier with an offer that you won’t be able to refuse.”

There was a pause in which Motor-Runner just stared at the masked figure. “Well, if it’s not, we’ll probably eat you. Alive.”

There was a muffled chuckle beneath the Courier’s helmet. “I’ve been collecting, buying, and making your favorite kinds of chems for five solid months. And I’m willing to sell it all to you.”

Motor-Runner rolled his eyes. “Why didn’t you just fuckin’ say so? It’s twenty caps for each Buffout, Jet-” 

The Courier held up a hand. “I don’t want caps, Motor-Runner. What I want is your junk.”

Motor-Runner tilted his head like a confused dog. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Scrap electronics, scrap metal, electrical and computer components, wires, cables, energy cells, fusion cells, the walls off your Vault! You and your underlings collect every shred of those kinds of materials, and I’ll give you one chem for every pound.”

Motor-Runner wasted no time in accepting the Courier’s terms. In a single month, the Fiends had amassed what some might consider a mountain of the requested junk. But with some foresight, he decided against the Courier’s advice and had his Fiends refrain from removing the vault’s metal-plated surfaces.

And, on the day scheduled for the trade, the Courier showed up with a dozen Securitrons weighed down with the precious chems. The trade went smoothly, and the Courier left with the entire mountain. The Fiends wasted no time in grabbing the chems and retreating into their vault for a celebration. Motor-Runner would have wondered how the Courier learned to poison Jet, had he and all of his fellow addicts not keeled over and died almost immediately. 

 

Some months after the Courier’s battle for Hoover Dam

 

Dr. Thomas Hildern sat at his desk, mentally and physically exhausted from countless hours of experimenting and study. Rubbing his eyes, he couldn’t figure it out; he hadn’t been able to figure it out since he took on the job. Vault 22’s unexplainable vegetation, a scientific mystery.

A tall man with short black hair, wearing a remarkably clean NCR uniform and carrying a file folder barged into his office. The doctor immediately sat up straight. “Major Reed, to what do I owe this pleasant sur-”

The officer interrupted him. “You know why I’m here, Dr. Hildern. It’s been thirty-six hours since your latest group of mercenaries went in. They’re presumed KIA. You know what happens now.”

The doctor recalled quite clearly the terms that he had made. “Major Reed, I just need a little more time-”

“No, Dr. Hildern, you’re out of time.” The major was a man of short temper, and the good doctor had a history of using it up, and then some. “You’ve wasted the NCR’s time, the OSI’s time, my time, and enough of your own time to turn your hair grey. Pray tell, you remember the promises you made to receive funding.”

The doctor felt that the insult was uncalled for. “Fields of corn, orchards of fruit, and minimal labor required to maintain them…”

“Well, if you remember that,” he slammed the file folder on the desk, spilling the papers inside, “Would you care to explain just why the hell you’ve given us a filled cemetery and a fucking library’s worth of paperwork on your theoretical bullshit?!”

He held up his hands in a pleading manner. “Major Reed, please-”

The officer slammed his fist down on the desk to shut the doctor up. “Your errors in judgment have resulted in the deaths of fourteen armed and decently trained mercenaries, Dr. Hildern! The first and second groups were begrudgingly written off as desertion, but now my superiors are starting to think that we just might be dealing with something that’s an actual Goddamned threat.”

“Major Reed, I was just about to reformat the freelancer contract! I’ll use OSI accounts to hire better equipped, better trained mercenaries! All I need is just a little more time!”

The major scoffed. “Dr. Hildern, I do not recall your ears getting clogged with Super Mutant turds! I am officially informing you that my superiors have decided that this matter is now within military jurisdiction.”

Groaning, Dr. Hildern slumped back. “So you’re kicking me out?”

The man shook his head. “You’re not being kicked out, doctor; I’ve been ordered to assemble a squad to secure the vault.”

Dr. Hildern raised an eyebrow. “You think you can do a better job than they did?” He grabbed one of the file’s papers discussing the suspected demise of one of the mercenaries and held it up for emphasis. 

Resisting the urge to knock the doctor’s teeth out, Major Reed calmly answered, “No, I’ve been assigned to assemble, not lead. Sergeant Vasquez will be leading the squad.”

Dr. Hildern came to an abrupt halt. “Vasquez?”

“That is correct, Hildern.” Major Reed smirked. “It may take some time, but what goes around does, eventually, come around.”

Dr. Hildern recalled his past history with the woman and failed to suppress his anger. “Will that be all, Major Reed? I am a very busy man, and I would appreciate it if I could get back to work.”

“As a matter of fact, there is one more thing, doctor.”

“What?”

“You’re going with them.”

Dr. Hildern shot up from his desk. “On whose authority?!”

“The OSI’s.” He turned and walked towards the door. “You may be the director of OSI East, but you’re not the head honcho! You’ll leave in three days. Finish your work and get your gear ready. I’ll have someone get you a set of armor.” Major Reed closed the door as he left. “Not that a snake like you can’t slither your way out of a fight.”

Dr. Hildern laid his head on his desk. An elongated groan of exasperation escaped his lips.

 

It was midnight on the New Vegas Strip; but instead of having a high time on the town, Cassidy was being carried into the Lucky 38’s elevator. She was also incredibly wasted, but that wasn’t exactly uncommon for the redhead. “Mmmrrgh, I don’t get you.”

The Courier punched the control button with an armored boot. “Is that so? What about me confuses you?”

“We have a… a whole tower with anti- anti- ...big laser guns to ourselves. But, but you get rid of all the fun!”

The elevator opened to the presidential suite, and the Courier stepped out. “It’s not as bad as you make it sound. The cocktail lounge wasn’t all that great to begin with, and those anti-missile guns were practically begging for reengineering.”

Boone emerged from the kitchen. He looked at the drunken cowgirl being carried in the arms of the Courier and then up at the Courier’s currently armored face. “How romantic.”

“Hi, broody!” Cassidy slurred.

The Courier quietly shushed her. “The girl’s people skills are as remarkable as always, aren’t they?” The Courier rhetorically asked with sarcastic pride. Cassidy was becoming just a little too heavy. “I need a third arm, Boone. Can you get the door for me before I drop her?”

Boone nodded and quickly opened the guest room door, allowing the Courier to enter with the oh-so-precious cargo. Cassidy drunkenly mumbled, “When am I gonna get my own bedroom?”

The Courier entered the makeshift barracks of a guest bedroom that had been established to accommodate the Courier’s companions and saw that Lily was asleep on the original double bed. The Courier whispered, “When you be quiet, because our friends are sleeping.”

“Stupid, self righteous, noble, mrgha.”

The Courier gently placed Cassidy on a vacant sofa and began to remove her jacket, shirt, and pants. Boone had followed the two into the “barracks” and quickly noticed the bandages wrapped around Cassidy’s stomach. “What happened?”

“A Securitron cooked her torso.” The Courier whispered while tucking Cassidy in with a blanket and folding the articles of clothing up, placing them on the armrest of the luxurious, creamy white sofa. “I’m sure Arcade will find that I did an adequate job of patching her up.” The Courier and Boone quietly exited the sleeping quarters.

The Courier shut the door and walked over to the kitchen. Upon entering, the Courier was greeted by Rex, who was sitting in one of the chairs. The dog hopped down, dismissing the half-eaten Brahmin Steak on the plate before him, and ran towards the Courier, who quickly removed the Power Armor Helmet and knelt down to welcome him. 

Rex gave a happy bark and began licking his owner’s face. The Courier laughed while petting the dog. “It’s good to see you too, Rex. Just keep the slobber out of my hair, please?”

The dog was given a loving belly rub while Boone helped his companion out of the custom Power Armor. “I’m not denying that Brotherhood equipment is sturdy, but it would help you to travel lighter and in something more mobile.”

The Courier stood up and finished the cumbersome task of removing the black camouflage set of armor, revealing the Stealth Suit underneath. “I’ve personally evaluated that this stuff can’t be beat, Boone. If it weren’t for your previous employment, I’d get you your own set.”

Boone placed the last piece of armor on the unnecessarily long dining table. “No thanks, not my style.” He suddenly remembered, “The Gun Runners made their weekly stop yesterday. I know how much you love ‘unique’ weapons, so I went ahead and got it for you.” He motioned towards the rifle that had been leaning against the wall behind the door.

The Courier gasped in surprise and immediately took possession of it. “Hot damn! This thing’s a beauty!” With a quick crank of the lever to verify that the rifle was empty, the Courier took aim at the floor. “The iron sights are perfect! What kind of brush gun is this?”

Boone answered, “Isaac called it the Medicine Stick. Don’t know why, but I do know that it holds two extra.45-70 rounds in the tube. You could put a scope on that rifle and probably fire true up to three-hundred yards.” 

Cradling the rifle as if it were a baby daughter, the Courier chuckled, “I’ll have to test her out sometime, Boone. Thank you.”

Boone responded with a wave of his hand. 

Taking one last look at the customized weapon, the Courier began placing the weapons that they had brought on their expedition to Vault 11 on the exorbitant dining table. First, the Courier’s trusty close quarters Dinner Bell. “Where’s the rest of the gang, Boone? Have they all made their fortunes and left me?” Optimized microfusion cells fell in a pile as the Q-35 Matter Modulator was placed next to the unused shotgun.

The Courier’s less than occasional sarcasm was not always welcome to him, but Boone allowed a small smile to show itself. “Veronica and the Securitrons got back from the Sierra Madre yesterday evening and is currently taking a bath; she’s got EDE guarding her, didn’t ask, don’t care. She made an impressive haul with the Vending Machines, though.”

“Did the bots get the usual amount of Cloud Residue?”

“They came up short with only thirty-eight canisters. Raul says he can tinker with the vacuums, try to make them stronger. But Veronica and Christine did amass sixty-two Demolition Charges with the collected chips and waivers.”

“Great! At this rate, we’ll have Big Mountain fully mined by the end of the month. What about the others?”

“Raul and Arcade finally fell asleep in the recreational room.”

The Courier quickly unloaded and field stripped the beautiful 9mm Maria before laying her to temporary rest. “I’m guessing they’ve all been enjoying themselves?”

Boone instinctively used a spare fork to pick away at an unwanted smudge of dried mud on the pistol. “How could you tell?” 

The Courier smirked, welcoming Boone’s relaxed attitude, a treat that did not come often enough. “I guess I’ll have to extend their shore leave.” The Courier placed the Superheated Saturnite Fist with the other weapons. “You should join us when we go back to Big Mountain.”

“You and I walked the perimeter. I won’t be any good there until your Securitrons finish fortifying it.” Boone remarked, “But you just got back; Veronica just got back; and your Securitrons won’t be done with the current scavenging run for at least another two weeks.”

The Courier drew the Big Mountain Transportalponder. “Instantaneous access, remember? We could always do target practice on any leftover lobotomites.” 

Boone remarked, “You’ve got an army of Roboscorpions patrolling the entire place. They’ve probably wiped the place clean.” 

“Bah, fine.” Pouches of various calibers and explosives were placed on the table. “So, anything exciting happen while we were gone?”

“Yeah, actually, something did come up.”

The Courier then placed the broken Assault Carbine on the table. “Yeah?”

Boone calmly elaborated, “I’m going to visit an old friend.”

The Courier remarked slyly while walking over to the two refrigerators and removing a Sunset Sasparilla. “I didn’t think you were the kind of person to pay people visits out of the goodness of your heart, Boone.” The Courier briefly browsed the shelves of canned goods that had been amassed for everyone’s consumption and wondered how many centuries a can of beans could go without its electrons flying out of orbit.

Boone sat back down in his chair next to Rex, who had jumped back up into his own seat and resumed dining on his steak. Examining the Assault Carbine, Boone said, “Not really my choice.” He didn’t always understand why the Courier insisted upon exploring every God forsaken corner of the Mojave, but he was grateful for the company. Also, a deluxe suite to live in wasn’t bad either. 

The Courier sat down across from Boone and began drinking the refreshingly cold, ironically dehydrating soda. “Is that so?”

Concluding that the barrel was, indeed, smashed and in need of a welding or replacement part to be repaired, he continued, “Technically a fellow brother in arms, back when I was with the NCR, before I got accepted into First Recon. They sent me a letter.”

Finishing a satisfying swig, the Courier asked, “And what does he want?”

“She,” Boone quickly and bluntly corrected.

The Courier stopped drinking briefly and raised an eyebrow. “A woman?”

“Yeah.”

Taking into account his monotone and facial expression, the Courier did not pursue any potential jokes. “Okay, I’ll bite. What does SHE want?”

“Help.”

The Courier took a sip of the drink. “I take it this is a serious affair, then.”

“Has to be.”

After the events of Vault 11, the Courier did not possess the usual miles and kilometers of patience that would have been at the ready. Setting the bottle down, the Courier asked, “Care to tell me?”

“Her name’s Vasquez, a sergeant.”

The Courier’s interest quickly shot up. “Sergeant Vasquez? What’s the relationship?”

“She was my CO before I got into First Recon.”

“Ah.” The Courier nodded and resumed drinking. “So she’s more of an older sister than a friend?” 

The sound of water being drained interrupted them, briefly. The Courier noted that it was coming from the bathroom. 

Boone continued, “Yeah, and she’s not the kind to send friendly ‘get well soon’ cards to her so-called ‘pals’.”

The Courier shifted the drink to the left hand while using the right hand to extract a piece of Rex’s steak, adding it to the midnight snack. “I don’t follow.”

Boone placed a yellowed letter on the table, sliding it towards the Courier. “Does that sound like something a soldier would say?”

The Courier picked up the letter and read it aloud. “Hey, Craig, how’ve you been? I heard about your new friend. Oh, you’re mother’s fine. She told me that she’s starting to hang out with shady people. I’d come visit you, make sure you’re ok, but I’m busy. Going on a field trip. Talk to you soon. –Vasquez”

The Courier looked up at Boone. “She sounds like a nice girl.”

Boone shook his head. “She’s an asshole.”

Veronica scoffed, “Who, me?”

Boone, Rex, and the Courier turned to the door. Veronica entered the room, sporting the very vibrant Vera’s Outfit. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

Boone answered bluntly, “Yes.”

Rex gave a happy whine and a wag of the tail.

Surveying Veronica’s attire, The Courier asked, “Isn’t it a little late for parties, Veronica?”

The once dressed in rags knight of steel swaggered over to the fridge and called back, “I didn’t go to any parties; I just wanted to feel pretty. And it’s not like you two are going to wear this dress.” Browsing the contents of the fridge, she asked, “Mind if I join you two? Two boys and a dog can only party so much without a lovely lady such as myself, you know.”

The Courier responded with a laugh and turned back to Boone. He shook his head. His frown would have been enough, but Boone had always been a man of overkill. “Uuumm,” the Courier called over to Veronica. “Why don’t you go down to the cocktail lounge? I’ll join you as soon as I’m done with Boone, assuming you don’t tamper with any of my lab experiments and blow up the whole building.”

She gave a light laugh. “We could always just move to the Sink. All your good lab equipment is there, anyway.” Veronica smiled while browsing the choices. “Don’t spend too long with Mr. Broody.” She took out a bottle of water and walked back through the kitchen. “He’s contagious.” She closed the door behind her and signaled the elevator.

When they heard the elevator doors close, the Courier turned back to Boone. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Boone looked back at the Courier. “She wants our help.”

“Why would she ask you?”

“Because my friend is the legendary Courier who rose from the dead and drove the Legion out of New Vegas with a Securitron army and a team of nutjobs; unified the Brotherhood of Steel with the NCR; and undermined Mr. House’s New Vegas monopoly.” Boone shook his head and smirked briefly. “With all the rumors going around about you, I wouldn’t be surprised if she thinks you OWN the NCR.”

The Courier grinned at the thought of ruling New Vegas through an oligarchy with the companions at the Courier’s side. But, the Courier had abandoned those thoughts when the option actually arose, instead opting to allow the NCR to tackle the problem of inserting a civilized government into an uncivilized world. However, the Courier new that NCR would have corrupt men in power, and thus chose to refuse them access to any of the Courier’s forces, Mk. II Securitrons included. “I couldn’t just let this brain of mine go to waste, you know. I had to do SOMETHING.” 

Boone personally added, “I’m still questioning half the shit you’ve done.”

The Courier laughed, “What, even when you accompanied me?”

“Especially when I accompanied you. But I’m losing focus. I’d like you to come with me, just in case.”

The Courier asked, “Just us two?”

Boone nodded.

“You know,” the Courier remarked, “More than two people live in this tower.”

“And only two of those people can be fully accepted into the NCR’s club.”

The Courier questioningly raised an eyebrow at Boone’s remark. 

“You’ve got a grunt from the Brotherhood of Steel, an ex-caravanner who’s drunk more times than she’s sober, a ghoul, an idealistic doctor of the Followers of the Apocalypse, a cyborg canine, a floating piece of Enclave technology, and a Nightkin.”

The Courier grimace at Boone’s connotation. “Boone, we’ve talked about this.”

He raised a hand. “I’m not finished. My point is that none of those profiles are exactly smiled upon by NCR. I agree that uniting the Brotherhood of Steel with NCR is for the best, but you need to remember that both factions are made up of human beings. They’re going to hold grudges against each other for a long time. They’ll never forget HELIOS One, and not even a thumb of God will change that.”

The Courier deduced, “And NCR doesn’t like the Followers, drunks, ghouls, Nightkin, or Enclave.”

Boone finished, “And Rex’s behavior has become extremely vicious since the brain transplant. The last thing anyone needs is a mad dog going after people’s necks.” 

“You can be pretty damn diplomatic when you want to.” The Courier picked up the half full Nuka Cola and quickly finished it off. “Well, Boone, Cass and I just got back. I’d like to spend some time resting first.” Another bite of steak was taken. “And I need to take Cassidy out for a new set of armor. Can we leave tomorrow evening? That should give me enough time to take care of the weekly shopping list and catch some Z’s.”

Boone nodded. “Sure.”

The Courier smiled. “Thanks. I guess I’ll be able to try out Medicine Stick sooner than I thought.” Grabbing one more bite of steak and thanking Rex for sharing via baby talk and a face rub, the Courier exited the kitchen. “You’d better get some rest.”

Boone attempted to pick up a piece of Rex’s steak. The dog growled as his hand reached for his food. Deciding it would be unwise to proceed, Boone backed off and asked the Courier, “What about you?”

Temporarily ignoring the sniper, the Courier took a quick peek into the recreational room. Sure enough, on the pool table lay a disassembled vacuum arm and canister backpack that the Courier and Raul had designed for collecting and containing the deadly Cloud of the Sierra Madre. And on the floor with pillows propped up under their heads, lay Arcane and Raul. Eyes closed, glasses off, and lights out, they were sleeping peacefully. 

Walking back over to the elevator, the Courier quietly called back, “I’ll be sleeping soon enough. If not, you know where to find me in the morning.” The doors opened up; the Courier stepped inside; and with the push of a button, the Courier disappeared.

Boone looked back at Rex, who was staring him down, teeth still barred. “I’m the one who gave you that steak, you ungrateful dog.”

Rex growled at him, turned back to his steak, and set his teeth upon the remains.

 

The elevator doors opened to the cocktail lounge. The Courier stepped out to see Veronica sitting in one of the booths, overlooking the light show that was New Vegas at night. She sat on the half of the lounge that the Courier hadn’t converted into a laboratory.

The Courier briefly reflected on the matter while approaching Veronica. When House had relinquished ownership of the suite, the Courier had wasted no time in transferring all sorts of equipment up to the rather functionally useless lounge. The Courier had used Securitrons to haul up Workbenches and Reloading Benches, procured plenty of Electric Hotplates, installed plenty of terminals and computer components for data cataloging, and had collected a multitude of containers ranging from ammo boxes to filing cabinets to hold the ungodly amount of resources that were inevitably gathered in various travels. 

There were many ideas and projects that the Courier would come down to spend time on, and the companions quickly learned that when the Courier was in the cocktail lounge, it was best to leave their friend alone lest an important device be broken and the Courier’s ire induced. That ire was not easily dealt with. Luckily, the preciously prized bins of soil that were currently growing some of Nature’s ingredients were doing very well. The Courier was a rather big fan of Black Coffee, especially when many hours were being devoted towards a project. 

The Courier closed the distance. “Hey.”

Veronica kept her head turned away from the Courier and towards the window. Rotating the now empty water bottle in her hands, she curtly replied, “Hey.”

The Courier occupied the booth seat across from Veronica. “Where’s your date?”

Veronica still kept her head turned towards the window. “Stood me up.”

The Courier feigned shock. “Who in their right mind would abandon a beautiful woman such as yourself, Veronica?”

“People who find broody men to be more appealing company than a lesbian in a dress?”

The Courier’s tone became serious. “Veronica, look at me.”

Veronica turned her head to look at the Courier, her expression completely blank, no anger, no sadness, just question.

“He lost the only thing that mattered to him a long time ago. He had to kill her out of mercy, and he was forced to play a horrific role in the Bitter Springs Massacre. This is his way of coping with the shitty hand he was dealt.”

Briefly bowing her head, Veronica sighed, “I know… It’s just that he’s such a stick in the mud!”

“Veronica.”

“Whenever I ask him if he wants to do something, or if he has something on his mind, OR if he just wants something to eat, he just looks at me like I’m the plague and says, ‘No’, or-”

“Veronica.”

She stopped, giving the Courier her undivided attention.

The Courier continued, “You grew up around the same faces; you learned to trust each person in your bunker and cherish them, even radicals like Elijah!”

Veronica scowled at the reminder.

The Courier noticed her dismay. “Sorry. I didn’t mean-” The Courier sighed. “Craig grew up in gangs, learned to trust no one, and to approach every new face with the utmost caution and suspicion. The woman of his dreams is dead, and the majority of his friends that he managed to make in the NCR died defending Hoover Dam.”

Veronica signed and turned her head back to the window. “I know. It’s not like I’m ignoring the facts, but that doesn’t make it any easier living with him. I just wish he could try and enjoy what’s still here.” She smirked. “He’s completely immune to all of our heartwarming family moments. While you, Raul and Arcane were at Big Mountain, me and Lily started this pool tournament that went on for hours!”

Now smiling too, the Courier remarked, “Really? Damn, wish I could’ve been there to participate.”

Veronica started laughing, “And when I got the ball that she kept missing, she! She!” The former scribe clapped her hands together and almost keeled over from laughter. “I thought she was going to flip the whole Goddamn table over on me!”

The Courier slapped a hand on the booth table and practically cried with laughter. 

They laughed and laughed, and laughed some more as Veronica shared more details about the “relaxing” event before making her routine trip to the Sierra Madre until their lungs could only manage a wheezing gasp for oxygen.

Collecting breath, the Courier turned to look out of the vast window. “Veronica, look at what you see before you.”

Sniffing and wiping away a tear of laughter, Veronica turned to stare out at the view she had. “Okay, what am I looking for?”

“Now tell me what you feel.”

Confused, she turned back to the Courier. “What I feel?”

“Yes.” The Courier smiled at her and motioned for her to look back out of the window. “Keep looking at the view and tell me what you FEEL.”

Veronica turned back, once again, to the lights of New Vegas. “I feel… nothing. Sure, it’s got some pretty lights-”

The Courier silently slid out of the booth,

“-I can barely hear some of the music.”

Rounded the table,

“I’ve TASTED plenty of its food.”

Slid into Veronica’s booth and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her towards the Courier and causing her to rest her head on the Courier’s shoulder.

She realized, “…And he struggles to enjoy what’s there, because he can’t share it with the ones he loves and cares for.”

Smiling, the Courier gave Veronica a pat on her shoulder. “Exactly.”

She chuckled. “Exactly. Now get off me, and let’s make some more Pulse Mines.”

 

Boone and the Courier approached Camp McCarran. The Courier was wearing the custom black camouflage T51-b Power Armor; Boone was wearing his 1st Recon Survival Armor and Beret. Two NCR soldiers armed with Marksman Carbines were slouching against the double doors, having a pleasant conversation, when they noticed the two masked figures approaching.

As the distance between the two duos closed, the guards grabbed their Marksman Carbines. When they saw that one had a scoped Hunting Rifle strapped on his back, and the other holstering a very fine looking semi-auto pistol, they didn’t waste any time in requesting their names, ranks, and intentions.

“Since when does McCarran have guards posted?” The Courier sighed and withdrew the Golden Branch. “Can we come in?”

 

Camp McCarran had changed a lot since the second battle for Hoover Dam. The buildings were still in poor cosmetic appearance, but the monorail was still working, and the majority of the camp grounds for the soldiers stationed there were replaced with stacks of wood, metal, and other raw materials. 

The Courier remarked, “Looks like they’re planning to turn Camp McCarran into Fort McCarran.” 

Boone asked, “The request for three dozen Mk. II Securitrons didn’t tip you off?”

A soldier was walking by them, carrying a box marked, “ammo”. Boone held out an arm and quickly stopped him. “Soldier, where’s Sergeant Vasquez?”

The private looked at him, wearing an expression of “are you crazy?” Hesitating, he pointed with his head and said, “She’s in that tent over there”.

They looked at a tent on the corner of the remaining campground. Boone started forward. The Courier quickly said, “Thanks”, before going forward as well.

 

As the two entered the large white tent, they saw that a single woman, who looked to be in her mid forties, was wearing a red bandana around a head of short, black hair. She wore a green undershirt, grey cargo pants, and laced black combat boots. She was sitting on the bottom bunk of a bunk bed, studying a piece of paper.

The woman looked up. She laughed with a gruff and slight Latino accent, “You got here fast.”

Boone stepped forward. “I never disappoint.”

Vasquez’s green eyes almost sparkled as she smirked. “You always were quick to follow orders.”

Boone ignored her remark. “You sent me this.” He pulled out the letter and tossed it to the ground in front of his former squad leader.

Vasquez glanced at it before getting up. “Yeah, I remember.” Her eyes began scanning him from head to toe. “I just don’t remember you ever being able to buy yourself gear that wasn’t NCR hand-me-down.”

Crossing his arms, he quickly countered, “You forget a lot of things, Vasquez.” 

Ignoring the intended insult, she observed, “I see you haven’t changed your style since we parted ways.” She glanced at the Courier. “And this is the legendary Courier of the Mojave?”

The Courier extended a right hand. “That’s what they call me. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Sergeant Vasquez.”

Vasquez took the armored hand and shook it. “As am I, you invincible Deathclaw killer. And thanks for securing the dam for us.”

The Courier nodded and replied, “Thank you for holding it.”

She looked at the Courier’s helmet. “Aren’t you roasting in that oven?”

The Courier chuckled. “I get asked that question a lot. I’d rather take a little heat than a bullet to the head. Again.”

A sly grin appeared on her face. “Considering your background, I guess I’d be a little paranoid too. Word around here is you won’t share your toys with the boys upstairs. They’re not too happy about that, you know.”

“I expected as much,” the Courier remarked. “But I’m afraid that I do have my own, personal, agendas. NCR can try to govern this wasteland if they want, but they’ll have to do it with their own muscle.”

Boone spoke up. “If you’re done welcoming us, I suggest we get down to business.”

Rolling her eyes, Vasquez sat down on the bunk. “Right, I couldn’t disclose it in my little S.O.S.”

The Courier sat down next to her and asked, “Why not?”

Boone answered, “They check every package and read every letter going in and out of these kinds of camps.”

Vasquez finished, “Don’t want any Legion spies among our ranks.”

The Courier chuckled, “I recall your camp having ‘infiltration’ problems in the past, despite that protocol.”

Vasquez scoffed. “Normally, I’d kick your ass for back-talking, but the security was pretty shitty.”

Boone asked, “You wanna give us the sitrep, serge?”

Vasquez nodded. “I do. Now, here’s the gist of the situation: Two days ago, Major Reed had a heart-to-heart with me He told me that in the past two months, a total of fourteen decently-armed, and decently-trained mercenaries signed on for some freelance work. Now, I saw the last group. Four men with military-grade armor with rifles of decent caliber and shotguns of heavy gauge.”

The Courier asked, “Trained people who knew what they were doing?”

Vasquez nodded and continued, “Exactly. None of the groups were young punks looking to make some quick caps. These were experienced merc groups. I mean the kind you might decide to avoid on the road if you’re alone. Point is: They all signed up for the same job, and they’ve all been marked KIA.”

“That stuff happens all the time, Vasquez.” Boone asked, “What’s the deal here?”

She responded, “Major Reed tells me that the OSI is pussing out and handing over some agriculture, science, research project thingy to us, since they keep losing guys and are getting nowhere fast.”

The Courier asked, “Can you tell me what the deal with NCR and OSI is?”

Vasquez answered, “Pretty basic. They need our brawn, and we need their brains.” Her facial expression darkened, and her eyes lowered to the ground. “More than a decade and they’re chewing our guys up just as badly as the Legion is-” She glanced up at the Courier. “Was.”

The Courier noticed the change. “Something we should know?”

Vasquez curtly responded, “No.”

Boone asked, “So what do you want us to do?”

Vasquez answered, “The freelancer contract is still valid. I’d feel a hell of alot better if you two to sign on and join me with my company. I’ve heard stories about your friend, Boone; we could use someone who can navigate vaults.”

The Courier asked, “That’s it? What makes you feel insecure?”

Vasquez continued, “We’re going in blind, and OSI has NEVER funded us like this before. Whatever’s in that vault is killing people, and the boys upstairs have decided the treasure’s worth enough to them to pay for the best of what we’ve got.”

Boone asked, “What’s the mission?”

Vasquez answered, “Our mission is to secure Vault 22. But, here’s the thing: We’re dealing with an unknown hostile of some sorts. Fourteen guys total and none of them came back. It can’t be Legion remnants; Vault 22’s too far inland for their territory.” She turned to Boone. “And if you’ve ever decided to listen to what I say, Boone, do it now.”

Boone immediately perked up at her sudden change in tone.

Vasquez’s expression darkened again. “Vault 22’s about eight miles from here. Tell me, Boone, what do you think our forces are going to be?”

Boone didn’t even have to think about it. “An average team is four troops. Two would be low-ranks with a commanding officer and a second-in-command. Most would have Marksman Carbines, maybe a shotgun or Incinerator unit for close quarters. Maybe a sniper for long range.” He eyed her with suspicion. “Why?”

“We’re going in with Reinforced Combat Armor, mint condition Assault Carbines and Riot Shotguns, and enough ammo to kill everyone in this whole damned camp.”

Boone grimaced at the implications. Maintaining his monotone, he asked, “And it’s all coming from OSI’s personal stash?”

Vasquez answered, “All of it. And there won’t be any doughboys in this op. Every trooper in this group will be a Ranger.” She smirked and added, “Myself included.”

Boone actually scoffed. “You finally made Ranger, huh?”

The Courier asked, “What’s so important about this operation? Besides the immediate threat to the surrounding populace, of course. What’s in the vault?” 

Vasquez answered, “Go talk to Dr. Thomas Hildern. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to spout his scientific bullshit.”

Boone asked, “Anything else you can tell us?”

Vasquez answered, with a slight grin on her face, “We’re going by Vertibird. In case we need to ‘fall back to reassess the threat.’”

Boone couldn’t suppress the shock in his voice. “Seriously?”

Vasquez nodded. “Go talk to the Hildern about it.” Her expression darkened, as she said the final words with venom, “I’d ask him myself, but I don’t care for the stench of rat.”

 

They entered the building. The Courier asked Boone, “Do you know anything about her past? It sounds like she’s got some problems with the OSI.”

Boone answered, “You don’t know the half of it. OSI doesn’t have a lot of muscle men; they get most of their field work done with merc labor. They tell ‘em where to go and what they’ll get. Usually a lot. When the rest of NCR gets involved, it’s practically a death sentence for the guys assigned.”

The Courier asked, “Care to elaborate?”

Boone responded, “OSI deals in science, specifically science that will benefit NCR. Anything they think is worth going after is usually very dangerous, ‘beneficial’ stuff. Big fans of ruthless calculus. If mercs won’t cut it, they tell NCR some sob story about how their work could save the world, and they get NCR to do their bidding.”

“What in the hell?” The Courier had difficulty turning away from the sight of three NCR troopers actually mopping a section of the floor. “It’s about damned time they cleaned this place.” The Courier turned back to Boone. “So, Vasquez was sent on one of those missions?”

Boone instinctively saluted an officer that passed by. “No, a close friend of hers. She got sent on an OSI operation. Never came back.”

“What happened?”

“Don’t know. Vasquez didn’t talk about it much. OSI abandoned that particular operation after Vasquez convinced about every guy in Camp McCarran to go on strike if OSI came calling again. This was all during the thickest of the fighting against the Legion.”

The scenario was too coincidental for the Courier. “Boone, did all of that happen about eight years ago?”

“Feels more like ten, to me.” He gave his companion a quizzical look, although his sunglasses hid most of it. “You on to something?”

The Courier answered, “It just sounds a little too familiar to me.” 

They reached the office. A lady looked up at them and became slightly intimidated by the cloaked figure in the customized black camo power armor.

The Courier asked, “Excuse me, ma’am, do you know where the OSI advisor is?”

She quickly surveyed the two and answered, “Dr. Hildern is in the next room.”

The Courier nodded. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Boone opened the door and walked in. Hildern was at his desk, typing on his terminal.

Dr. Hildern sighed, “What, has knocking gone out of style? I thought 1st Recon was the last thing I NEVER saw.”

The Courier entered the room. “You’re the OSI advisor?”

He nodded. “I am for the East Wing. My name is Dr. Hildern.” He quickly examined their attire and weapons. “I assume you’re here about Vault 22?”

The Courier answered, “That’s right.”

The man turned his chair to face them. “Good, you’re just in time. Have you signed the release forms?”

Boone answered, “We haven’t signed anything.”

Dr. Hildern responded, “Well it doesn’t matter. We’ll keep it to ourselves. There isn’t a lot of time. You need to head over to Major Reed’s office and tell him that you’ve already signed on.”

The Courier asked, “Can you spare a few minutes concerning Vault 22?”

Dr. Hildern took a deep breath and sighed, “I suppose you deserve a briefing.”

The Courier said, “We’re listening.”

Dr. Hildern said, “Well, imagine the wasteland in bloom… vast fields of corn that grow and produce their bounty in the space of a month. Orchards of trees, whose branches are weighed half way to the ground, hung with fat, ripe oranges. A harvest that could feed a city… or a nation. And all this... all this... requiring no more than a few precious drops of water, and the efforts of only a handful of human farmers. Impossible?”

The Courier made some brief calculations and considerations. “I’d say improbable. This world’s proven that anything’s possible.”

Boone sarcastically asked, “Don’t you mean YOU’VE proven that anything’s possible?”

Ignoring the banter, Dr. Hildern continued, “I can assure you, it’s VERY probable. The bounty I described to you is no idle fantasy. It exists, in primitive form, only a few miles from where we stand. We need only to reach out and unlock its secret.”

The Courier asked, “And what secret is that?”

“I believe that the inhabitants of Vault 22 have unlocked the secrets of vegetative growth.”

The Courier clarified, “Abundant plant life in THIS wasteland?”

“It sounds absurd, but it’s true. Plants are spilling from their gate. No one tends them. No one waters them. Yet they multiply and spread in all directions.” His expression darkened. “And the NCR is going to go in and desecrate the site.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a search and destroy. If it moves, you kill it.” He closed his eyes and breathed. “They don’t care about the scientific benefits. They just want an excuse to shoot their guns.”

Boone scoffed, “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one risking your life.”

Dr. Hildern said, “As a matter of fact, I am.”

The Courier asked, “You are?”

Dr. Hildern nodded. “Yes, I’ll be going with them. It’s my only chance to secure any samples, before they destroy everything.” He leaned back in his chair and growled, “Not that I had much of a choice in the matter. Now if we’re through here, you need to tell Major Reed that you’ll be accompanying us.”

The Courier, resisting the urge to poke holes and demand answers, decided to take it up with the major. “Right, thanks for your time.”

 

They left the office, closing the door behind them.

“Excuse me,” the lab assistant said quietly, “I couldn’t help but overhear about your new business deal.”

Boone said, “Not really your business.”

The Courier turned to Boone. “Now hold on, Boone.” The Courier turned back to the assistant. “Yes, we signed on for the Vault 22 freelancer job. Is there something we should know?”

The woman said, “Well, my name’s Angela Williams, and I know it’s none of my business, but you’re not the first group Hildern sent out to the vault.”

Boone deadpanned, “We know. Get to the point.”

Angela continued, “Well, he sent a scientist, named Keely, with the last group-”

Boone finished, “-and she’s been pronounced KIA.”

Angela sighed. “Look, I was just hoping you two could maybe look for her, see if she’s alright. I’m not rich, but I can pay you.”

Boone commented, “If she were alive, she would have come back.”

The Courier turned to Boone and sternly instructed, “Boone. Stop.” The Courier turned back to Angela. “If she’s alive, we’ll bring her back. Payment won’t be necessary.”

Angela gratefully nodded. “Thank you. She’s a ghoul, so you can’t miss her.” And returned to her studies.

 

They continued towards Major Reed’s office.

Boone grumbled, “She was wasting our time.”

The Courier said, “She’s concerned for a friend, Boone.” They approached his office. The Courier added, “You can relate.” 

Boone responded with a grunt and gave a hard knock on the door.

A muffled voice called from behind the door, “Come in!”

The Courier and Boone entered the office. Behind a wooden desk, sat Major Reed. He didn’t looked up, continuing to write on a document. “Have a seat… just… need to finish this.”

Boone set his rifle down on a filing cabinet and leaned against the wall, while the Courier took the seat across from Major Reed’s desk, deliberately being quiet about it so as not to make any noise. The Major finished scribbling something on the paper and looked up. He almost jumped out of his skin at the sight of the figure in that black camouflage Power Armor. “YOU!” He turned to see Boone’s all-too-familiar face. “And YOU?!”

The Courier chuckled. “What, you actually thought I’d leave you alone? I just got back from Vault 11, and this is the thanks I get?”

Major Reed’s expression darkened. “You’re timing is impeccable, you know that?” He sighed. “So how’d it go? I trust you and your drunken cowgirl of a caravanner had a fun time?”

The Courier had already decided that what they had found in Vault 11 could stay in Vault 11. “Long story short: The team sent to clear the vault almost a decade ago is dead. I’ll spare you the details.”

The major grunted. “No, please, tell me all about how they were picked apart by ghouls or eaten alive by Nightkin.”

Boone spoke up, “I see your sense of sarcasm hasn’t changed, sir.”

Major Reed sighed, “Boone, if you’re here to reenlist-”

The Courier interrupted, “Actually, we’re here about Vault 22.”

Major Reed groaned, “Of course you are. Why wouldn’t you. Let’s just ignore the fact that it’s now a military operation and civilians aren’t allowed-”

The Courier interrupted again, “Major Reed, with all due respect, you should know by now that I’m more than a civilian.” The Courier withdrew the Golden Branch. “I might just weld this thing to my armor and be done with it.”

Major Reed said, “Look, you’ll never know how grateful the NCR is about what you did, but that doesn’t mean you can just barge into our affairs like you run the place.”

The Courier said, “We’ve signed the release forms, and we’re coming along as freelancers for the OSI, not NCR.”

Major Reed deadpanned, “I’ll be blunt: We can handle it. Your ‘spirit’ is admirable, but we are more than capable of sweeping a vault.”

The Courier leaned towards Major Reed. “Oh? Are all of your vault sweeps Search and Destroy operations with two fire teams, mint condition weapons and equipment, AND a vertibird?” With Major Reed’s expression turned to shock, the Courier leaned back, smirk hidden by the helmet. “Last time I checked, my expertise in vaults and Vault-Tec have proven invaluable time and time again.”

Major Reed gaped, “H- how? Where? Who told y-” He leaned back in his chair and groaned, “Damnit, Vasquez.” 

The Courier continued, “From where I stand, sir, Boone and I would make valuable additions to your squad.”

Major Reed folded his hands and looked down, contemplating. Considering his options for a moment, he looked back up and slowly asked, “You wouldn’t get in the way?”

The Courier answered, “We would not.”

Major Reed took a deep breath and said, “Very well. Considering your knowledge and experience of vaults and combat, I’m promoting you to Lieutenant for this assignment ONLY. You will not endanger my men, and you will NOT impede their progress, but you will have some authority pertaining to the vault. I’ll inform the assigned men via radio. If you have a suggestion about the vault, they will be ordered to heavily consider it.”

The Courier asked, “Not that I’m complaining about the promotion, but why such a high rank?”

Major Reed answered, “I don’t want you under Dr. Hildern’s authority. While he’s not a soldier, he is technically a specialist, like you for this specific mission. I want you to outrank him.”

Legitimately curious, the Courier asked, “Does anybody here like the doctor?”

Major Reed merely commented, “In our defense, we certainly tried to. But he represents an organization that has sentenced many of our brethren to death.”

The Courier nodded. “Thank you, sir. What happens now?”

“I’ll inform the men of the change. Let’s see,” he glanced at a pre-war clock hanging above the door. “Six PM. Fine, let me give you the details now, and then I’ll arrange for a place you two can bunk for the night.”

Boone said, “We can bunk with the Vasquez. I couldn’t help notice she’s got a whole tent to herself.”

“She scares the troops.” Major Reed gave him a small, nostalgic smile. “Just like old times, Boone?”

Boone maintained a poker face. 

The Courier asked, “What else do we need to know?”

Major Reed responded, “Well, the squad is comprised of Ranger Sergeant Vasquez, Corporal Hicks, Rangers Drake and Dietrich, and our vertibird pilot, Harkness.” He bitterly added, “Dr. Hildern won’t be a very welcome person in the mission, but he’ll finally shut up about getting his precious data.” 

Boone asked, “Will Hildern have a gun?”

“Absolutely not. Six gunners will be suitable protection for the doctor.” 

The Courier asked, “Should we introduce ourselves to the squad tonight or wait until tomorrow?”

Major Reed shook his head. “The bulk of the squad is currently station at Hoover Dam and will arrive in the Vertibird tomorrow morning. You’ll have to get acquainted on the flight out to the Vault.”

Boone asked, “Why choose soldiers from there?”

“The possibility of a recreatable formula for boundless plant life is one that cannot be overlooked, Boone. My assignment is to gather troops that can secure this formula without jeopardy. So, I chose veterans of war.”

“The Courier glanced at the Pimp-Boy 3 Billion. “Very well. If there’s nothing else, sir, I think we’ll take our leave.”

The major asked, “You two bunking here tonight, then?”

“And seeing you bright and early tomorrow!” the Courier added. “Assuming you’re not-” 

 

“-Out of Black Coffee.” The Courier grumbled, slouched over on the picnic table that Boone had selected as their location of eating breakfast and enjoying the 5:30 AM sunrise. “Tried using the walkie talkie to contact base. No one’s answering.” The Courier violently shook the hand held device for emphasis. 

Boone set his breakfast tray down, immediately regretting asking his companion what was wrong. “Shit.”

The Courier grunted, “My head’s killing me.”

Sighing, Boone sat down and began to chow down. “Maybe if you took off your helmet besides in the middle of the night,” He suggested in between bites.

The Courier responded with a shake of the armored head. “Nope, not happening.” More groans seeped out of the helmet. “I ate already. Just finish and let’s get this operation going.” 

A sudden static blast interrupted Boone’s potential response. Cassidy called out over the Courier’s radio, “HQ Deathclaw calling everyone’s favorite early bird! Come in, early bird!”

The Courier winced at the unwelcome audacity. “I read you, Cass. Loud and clear.”

“Well, well, well! What’s this? Someone’s not feeling well?” She laughed. “Now YOU know what it feels like when someone wakes you up at an ungodly hour. But anyways, I thought I’d check in on you and soldier boy.”

“Cass. Coffee. Don’t have any.” The Courier groaned and pounded a fist on the table.

Cassidy scoffed. “Poor you. Complaining about your second chance at life again, I see. Well then, I’ll keep it brief: It’s a new day, and I’m feeling great, so me and Vee are heading out on a supply run. We’ll take a half-dozen Securitrons and a couple thousand caps with us and see if any of your suppliers have any of the ‘desired materials’.” 

Sighing, the Courier responded, “Thanks, Cass. Make sure to tag any cars you find for scrapping. You wanna borrow my old Pip-Boy? It’s got all of my updated maps.”

“Hmmm, nah. I think me and Vee will be fine. It’s just a morning walk around the block for us. Vee’s got her weapons and armor, and I’ve got mine, so we should be good.”

“Just try to avoid any major factions. All they need is one good look at a Securitron to build their own army. We don’t need the Brotherhood muddling up my plans.” 

There was a pause. “Vee says she’s offended and also wants me to tell you that we’ll be good. I personally don’t plan on that, but whatever.”

Ignoring the humor in her voice, the Courier asked, “If you find yourself around Vault 3, can you make sure that nobody’s helped themselves to its contents? I have those Cazadors in stasis for a reason.”

“You’re really paranoid, you know that? Sure, we’ll make a stop. Assuming we don’t suffocate while walking through the damned thing.”

The Courier’s shoulders slumped. Groaning, the Courier responded, “I told you: The Brotherhood needed HEPA 20 Filters. Where else was I supposed to find perfectly intact pre-war equipment?”

Nonchalantly, she responded, “Yeah yeah, sunshine, whatever. Anyways, should we wait up late and knit socks for you two, or what?”

“This operation shouldn’t take more than twenty-four hours, tops. Maintain radio silence with us until then. If you run into trouble you can’t handle, Yes Man can have reinforcements backing you up in minutes.” 

“Roger roger, victor vector! Cass out!” The radio went silent, and Boone finished his breakfast and popped the cap on a Sunset Sarsaparilla.

Upon hearing the sound of a Vertibird coming in to land, the Courier stood up. “C’mon, your fellow soldiers are probably outside already.”

Boone began walking by the Courier’s side. “Will you be okay?”

The Courier waved a hand, dismissing the concern. “Give my Brain thirty more minutes to realize it’s not getting caffeine today. If worse comes to worse, I can chew on a mintat. I don’t relish the thought of addiction, but my artificial gut’s telling me that these next few hours aren’t going to be easy.” 

The two armored figures exited Camp McCarran just in time to see their ride coming into view. They stood tall, unaffected by the sudden increase in wind and dust, as the mighty machine descended and landed in front of them. Four figures stared at them. All four of them were dressed in Reinforced Combat Armor with Assault Carbines strapped to their backs and helmets in hands.

The Courier looked back to see that Sergeant Vasquez had emerged from the camp wearing identical armor and armed with the very same weapon.

The odd ball out was Dr. Hildern, who was wearing regular Leather Armor and a small back pack. His facial expression showed that he was perfectly content to stay behind the woman.

Sergeant Vasquez, still wearing the red bandana, marched up to the two hired helpers. Giving a brief salute to Boone, who immediately returned the gesture, she yelled over the Vertibird’s engines, “We’re all packed! We can talk in the bird!” 

Wasting no time, they all boarded the Vertibird. The soldiers sat on the side against the cockpit, helmets in their laps and weapons held between their knees. The Courier, Boone, and the doctor sat on the other side. With everyone strapped in, Vasquez quickly pounded on the metal behind her, signaling that they were ready, and the Vertibird took off.

The caucasian Ranger with blue eyes and brown hair who sat in front of the Courier extended his hand towards Vasquez, who sat next to the Courier and on the edge of the Vertibird. “Sergeant Vasquez! I’m Corporal Hicks! Per my instructions, I relinquish command of my men to you!”

Vasquez took the man’s hand and shook it. “Thanks a lot, Hicks! You wanna introduce me to your men?”

Hicks motioned to the Ranger to his left. Said Ranger possessed black hair, green eyes, an eyepatch, and two Ranger Sequitas strapped to his torso. “Drake!” Hicks then motioned to the man to his right. That ranger was bald with black eyes and possessed many scars across his face. “Dietrich! Our medic!” 

Vasquez asked over the engines’ roar, “Is there anything I need to know before we touch down?”

Drake answered, “Ma’am! The three of us know each other, but all we know about you and your posse is that one of ‘em’s ex-NCR, an OSI rat, and an unkillable Courier!”

The Courier yelled back, “Are you aware of my temporary rank?”

Dietrich answered, “We were briefed! And we’ve heard the stories about you! You obviously know what you’re doing!” Dietrich turned to Dr. Hildern. “As for you, pal! Remember your place, and we won’t leave you behind!”

Hildern simply nodded in response.

Hicks extended a hand to Boone. “I’ve tried to get into 1st Recon three times, sir! It’s good to have you with us!”

Boone begrudgingly shook the hand. “If I were you, I wouldn’t try again!”

The Courier sat back in silence for the remainder of the flight, trying to ease the headache that was still pounding away. “Maybe I should’ve left You back at the Sink,” the Courier murmured to the Brain.

 

Dietrich held a cigarette in his mouth as the Courier lit it with Benny’s Lighter. “Thanks,” he murmured and inhaled the contents of the death stick. “That’s a hell of a welcoming sight.” 

“It certainly warrants attention,” the Courier remarked while placing the lighter back into a pocket. 

The entire group stood in front of the entrance to Vault 22. Specifically, they stood in front of a giant sign with the red words, “STAY OUT THE PLANTS KILL” written on it. 

Hicks took a puff of his own cigarette. “Drake, you wanna get the shotguns?” 

Drake quickly retrieved a footlocker from the Vertibird and dropped it in front of everyone. “Way ahead of you, Hicks.” He extended his hand. “Wanna save me a smoke?” 

The Courier pulled out a pack and offered it to Drake. “If a pack of cigarettes is all it takes to keep you from blowing your brains out, then by all means. Indulge yourself.”

Vasquez knelt down and opened up the locker. Four Riot Shotguns with four ammo bags were quickly withdrawn and equipped by the Rangers. “A hundred rounds of buck and slug outta work.” She looked to the Courier and Boone. “Hope you two don’t mind being left out.”

The Courier withdrew and shouldered the trusty 12 gauge Dinner Bell. “I think I’m good.”

“Same here.” Boone shouldered a Lever-Action Shotgun and loaded a full magazine into his marksman carbine, the All-American, as the Rangers locked and loaded their Assault Carbines.

Shouldering their automatic weapons, Hicks nodded. “Then I guess we’re ready.” He turned to the Courier. “Any Vault advice before we move in?”

Holstering Maria to the hip, the Courier cranked the lever on the newly acquired Medicine Stick. “Vaults are corridors gallor. Don’t bunch up, check your corners, and watch your fire.”

Drake threw away his cigarette. “It’s a pre-war hole in the ground. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“You could hit a gas pipe and set us all ablaze.” 

The four Rangers looked at each other. “Oh.”

Something rustled in the tall grass and various plants that spilled from Vault 22’s partially opened door, drawing everyone’s attention. Dr. Hildern stepped back.

The Courier stepped forward. “It’s probably just a Molerat.” 

A Giant Mantis lunged forward, swiping its razor sharp mandibles. The Courier quickly grabbed it by its back and held it up in the air, analyzing it. “Female. It’s lived a while and laid eggs.” The giant insect flailed its limbs and wings violently. “There must be a hive nearby or inside the vault.” The Courier promptly crushed the freak of nature in half, squirting out green ooze.

The Rangers looked at each other and shrugged. Vasquez took point, followed by Hicks, Drake, and then Dietrich. Shotguns drawn, they advanced through the foliage, pushing past the vibrant flowers and thistles. Every foot gained resulted in another Mantis revealing itself and attacking. A shotgun blast of buckshot proved to be overkill. 

The Courier and Boone followed behind the Rangers. The Courier looked about the jungle-like biome. “Boone, I think we’ve found the missing piece.”

Boone murmured, “If this vegetation were stable, it wouldn’t be a problem.”

Covertly picking a handful of the plants and stowing them away for future analysis, the Courier responded in an equally hushed tone, “If I can get my hands on the data, I can determine its value.”

Dr. Hildern tread behind the two with care, stepping over the remains of the insects. “Are we really going to leave the Vertibird with its pilot unguarded?”

Vasquez called back, “That’s none of your concern, doctor!” and blasted another Mantis that tried to take her head off.

Grabbing a handful of plantlife and placing it in his own pouch, Hildern grunted, “It kind of is.” as he snapped off an unusually large foreleg of an unusually large Mantis.

All seven assailants reached the vault door. Vasquez pulled down the vines that had grown down it, allowing access to the interior. Hicks ordered, “Drake, you know the drill. Breach and clear.”

Hicks and Drake reloaded their Riot Shotguns and charged in. The interior room was coated in rust. Long grass grew out of the floor; vines sprouted and spread across the walls and even the ceiling. Met by no hostiles, they advanced. 

Drake called out, “Nobody’s home, serge!” 

Vasquez and Dietrich moved in to cover them, followed by the Courier with the Medicine Stick, followed by Boone with the All-American, and then followed by the unarmed doctor. “But somebody’s definitely been here,” he added.

“I’ve seen this before. This vault’s on auxiliary power. We’ll be lucky if we get any lights besides my Pimp-Boy.” The Courier moved up the small staircase and laid the Medicine Stick against a wall. A mattress lay on the ground, surrounded by supplies strewn about on the floor. Two tables adjacent to the sleeping area housed basins of plantlife, a hotplate with cans of food, and a single, operational terminal. 

Hildern analyzed the plants. “Absolutely remarkable. These things are getting barely any sunlight, and yet they’re flourishing!” 

Drake and Hicks took their positions on the sides of the door leading into the rest of the vault. Dietrich and Vasquez took center. Boone opened up the duffel bag, and the Courier quickly accessed the terminal and downloaded its contents. “Keely.”

Hildern shot up at the Courier’s remark. His face involuntarily twitched at the name. “W-what?” 

Boone placed six frag grenades next to the Courier who quickly took them with a nod of thanks. “Two entries were made by Keely. She made camp here for the night, and she thinks you were on to something, doctor.” The Courier grabbed the Medicine Stick. “Whenever you’re ready, sergeant.” 

The Courier and Boone stood back, and Hildern quickly got behind them. Drake punched the door switch, and the giant metal gate opened up, leading the squad into a short tunnel that ended at a four-way junction. A door marked “Elevator” stood in the front of them. A Nuka-Cola vending machine sparked and flickered to their right, and a door marked “Stairs” lay to their left.

Vasquez motioned towards the elevator as she and her men prepared to move to stairway. “Does it work?”

The Courier moved towards the control box of the elevator and set the rifle down again. After a quick analysis of its hardware, the Courier began to tinker with it and answered, “Not in the slightest, but I can easily repair it. But it’s not going to work without power. I’d need to gain access to vault’s CPU and reroute auxiliary power to mechanical functions, or repair the main generators and restore main power directly.”

Hicks asked, “Would it take long to repair the elevator? We might want to wait, just in case we do manage to get it powered up.”

The Courier shut the lid of the control box. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve already fixed it. We just need the power, now.”

Drake whistled, “Damn, lieutenant. You’re one fast motherfucker.”

The Courier took up the Medicine Stick and gave a slight bow. “These days, there’s nothing I can’t do.” 

Rifle still at the ready, Boone scoffed, “You could try making yourself easier to live with.”

The Stairway door opened, and the four Rangers moved in to clear it out. They went down the spiral and came up to a door marked Oxygen Recycling. The door had trouble opening, because it had to chew through plants that had somehow grown into its gears. Said plants were ground into juice and spilled out onto the floor. 

Dietrich lifted up his boot and remarked, “Gross.”

They moved into the next section, another four-way junction. Ahead of them lay more stairs, to the left of them lay the elevator door, and to the right of them lay a door marked Lab. Vasquez ordered, “Dietrich, Drake, watch the stairs. The rest of us will investigate.” She bitterly added, “And maybe doctor boy will get his samples and not get anymore of my friends killed?”

Hildern did not respond to the jab. 

The Courier and Vasquez prepared to breach, and the door opened to reveal a small room. Dead center, amidst overturned tables and parasitically invasive plant life covering the room, lay a body. Vasquez offered, “You’re the expert, lieutenant. You wanna take point on this?”

The Courier readied the Medicine Stick and moved in. “I’d love to.”

The first room held nothing of value except another door that opened up into a small hallway that had yet another door directly across from the one just opened. The other door revealed a much larger room with purple lighting in the western corner, and an actual lab setup on the eastern end of it. A line of tables held more lab equipment, hot plates, and a terminal.

Detecting no hostiles, the Courier moved in, followed by Vasquez, Hicks, Boone, and then Hildern. The Courier quickly ordered, “Nobody touches anything until I say so.”

Boone muttered, “No additional hostiles. Those bugs outside can’t be the threat.”

Hicks nodded. “This doesn’t smell right at all.”

“Boone, check for anything of value. Vasquez, Hicks, keep your eyes peeled. Hildern, stay close to me.” The Courier moved along the eastern side of the room and accessed the terminal with one hand while keeping the rifle at the ready with the other. “Three more entries. This should help us.”

Boone found a duffel bag stashed in the southeastern corner of the lab. “No frag grenades, just some water bottles.”

Hicks broke off and entered a small side room on the western side of the lab. It was a narrow passage with an equally narrow and long window to his left that overlooked a room with heavy equipment barricading the main entrance and a burst open wall leading into a cave, and a terminal at the end of the room. Seeing that it did not function, he returned to Vasquez. 

The Courier muttered, “Looks like the original scientists were devoted to studying atmospheric effects on the plants, trying to maximize oxygen output.”

Hildern commented, “As I suspected.” 

The Courier checked the fourth entry. “According to Keely, they apparently modified their machinery. They bypassed some protocols to affect oxygen output and systemic pressure.” The Courier glanced at Hildern. “You’d never do that, unless you had nothing else to work with, right?”

Hildern nodded. “Safety is always paramount.”

Vasquez spat, “You’re full of shit, doc.” 

The Courier accessed the fifth entry. “She didn’t have any problems with the bugs. They do not detect ghouls, apparently.” The Courier downloaded the terminal’s contents. “I think we’re done here.” 

The Courier took point again and lead the others out and down the hallway. They took a left and came up to another room on the right. Peeking in, the Courier saw that it was much larger and open. It had two other doors inside on the opposite end, and there were two terminals begging for attention. “Hicks, Vasquez, watch our six. I’ll be quick.”

Vasquez and Hicks held their ground outside the door, watching the extensive plant growth at the end of the hall that they had yet to explore. Boone and the Courier made quick work of the room, first clearing the two smaller rooms, apparently observational labs of some nature. They were filled with flowers, vines, and leafy plants, all displaying impressive growth. 

As the Courier moved on to the terminals, Boone remarked, “Nothing should be able to grow in here.”

Hildern admired the plants in the middle of the main room. “A miracle of science.”

Downloading the terminal content, the Courier observed, “A noise complaint.” The Courier motioned for Boone and Hildern to move out. “Something was in the vents.” They reconnected with Vasquez and Hicks outside. “Keep your ears open too.” 

The Courier took point again and lead them around the sudden outburst of shrub, flower, and vine that had begun to grow at the turning point of the hallway. Vasquez stomped the plants level for good measure. The hallway ended with two more rooms facing each other. The one on the right was another small observational lab, filled with basins of the same plants. The one on the left opened up and, to their surprise, brought them back to the room with overturned tables. They reconnected with Drake and Dietrich.

Drake reported, “All’s been quiet, ma’am. Not a sight or sound.”

Dietrich asked, “Find anything?”

“There was something in the air ducts, before it all went to hell.” The Courier ordered, “Keep your ears open.” The Courier stepped aside and motioned for Vasquez to go on ahead. “I’ll let you take charge, sergeant.”

Vasquez smirked and took point. “Thank you, lieutenant.”

They descended down the second flight of stairs, making a single turn to the left and coming up to another overgrown doorway marked Food Production. The door opened up with even more difficulty and even more plant fatalities. This time, every Ranger got their boots wet with plant juice. 

The door opened up and revealed an identical layout to the one a floor above. Another T junction with stairs directly across from them leading even farther down. Vasquez peeked left and right. The elevator was to the right, and an unmarked hallway with a massive amount of foliage growing at the foot of it was to the left. “Dietrich, Drake, watch our backs. If you hear anything in the air ducts, Dietrich comes to us and reports.”

Vasquez stepped past the plants and held her position at a door in the right side of the hall. Dietrich and Drake took cover on the left and right sides of the staircase, respectively. 

INSERT ACTION ADVENTURE ROMANCE DRAMA SUPER FUN TIME 

 

Major Reed could run an army and make it win, but he was always extremely suspicious of any cases of suspected mutiny. He prefered to cut off an infected finger before he lost the whole arm. And so, he found himself before General Oliver’s door and giving it a firm knock. He immediately heard the general call out, “Enter.”

General Oliver greeted the major with a warm smile and motion of the hand. “Ah, major. Have a seat, please. I’ve been expecting you.”

“Thank you, general.” The major promptly sat down in front of the general’s desk. “Here are the reports of the recent ‘events’, per your request.” He hesitated as the general swept up the folder and began to examine the contents. 

“I’ve already heard some of the ‘observations’ that the other soldiers have made.” Oliver chuckled as he flipped through the papers. “I wonder how much of it is exaggerated.”

A few minutes of the general’s reactions and remarks passed before Major Reed gathered the nerve to speak up. “Uum, general.”

The general quickly examined the major’s facial expression. “Something you want to tell me, Reed?” 

He nodded. “Yes. Yes, there is, sir, but it’s a rather...” He couldn’t seem to find the right words. “It’s a bit of a sensitive matter.”

General Oliver laid the files down and provided the major with his undivided attention. “I’m assuming that this has something to do with Vault 22?”

“Perhaps.” The major explained, “I heard from Sergeant Vasquez that the Courier said something that I find very disturbing, sir.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What did our Courier say?”

The major revealed, “She heard the Courier say, and I quote, ‘I will analyze the data’s value after my Securitron army is reassembled and ready for deployment.’”

The general considered the potential meanings. “This is that plant data the Courier recovered from Vault 22?”

Again, the major nodded. “Yes, sir.” 

Oliver recalled previous interactions with the Courier. “Such a charismatic individual. I’d almost forgotten that Mr. House’s forces are still privately owned and ordered by one person.” 

Reed grimaced. “That alone is a very concerning matter.”

The general deduced, “So, our Courier has something more important to do than examine a potential cure for the Mojave Wasteland. And that something requires the brawn of a private Securitron army.” He remarked, “Sounds rather sinister.”

“I have some other information, sir.” Major Reed pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket. Unfolding it, he read aloud, “The suspect has been using Securitron forces to gather scrap metal and electronics for several months. Most notably, the suspect made a deal with the Vault 3 Fiends. Chems for the desired materials.” 

The general recalled that day he’d been informed of the ironically non-violent carnage. “Taking advantage of savage addicts was economically clever, I must admit.”

Reed looked up at the general. “And, as you were informed, all of the bodies of Fiends in that vault were seen being carted off by Securitrons. Whether they were under Mr. House’s command or not remains a mystery, but we do know that most still had the needles in their arms.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I still can’t believe the eye-witness accounts. They said that the whole area around the vault just went silent.” 

Clasping his hands together, the general declared, “No offense, major, but I’ve heard all of this before. Mostly from you. Is there an update in this report?” 

“It’s more than an update, sir.” The major went on to explain, “I recently decided to assign some of my men the task of staking out the Courier’s trading hotspots. It turns out that the prime dealers have been selling scrap metal and electronics, Electron Charge Packs, Energy Cells, and Microfusion Cells, spent or full, and a few have even sold Mini Nukes!” He grimaced. “Most of the dealers are selling the supplies to the Courier in bulk.”

It was the general’s turn to grimace. “How big of a bulk are we talking?”

“Three or four Securitrons are used to carry it all to a location that we have yet to discover, despite our efforts. The Courier’s companion, former head of Cassidy Caravans, a Rose of Sharon Cassidy, appears to be the manager of the operation as a whole.”

The general scoffed. “Of course the drunken cowgirl would be put in charge of organizing such an operation.” 

“To be fair, she has had a considerable amount of experience in running a business.” Major Reed added, “But let’s not forget what happened at Hoover Dam.” He remarked, “It takes a special kind of person with a special kind of agenda to take most of the electricity for themselves.” 

The general’s tone grew serious. “We were granted enough to power what we need, but the remaining juice is enough to power half the Mojave.” He bitterly added, “As if taking all of HELIS One wasn’t enough.” 

“That’s too much power, sir. For one person, that’s just too much.”

He leaned back in his chair. “So our asset has been carting off mountains of scrap metal and electronics to an unknown location, stocking up on energy packs, currently mobilizing a private armada, and syphoning an ungodly amount of power.” Racking his brain, he asked, “To what end?”

The major bluntly stated, “Your asset, is looking to build something big, sir. I don’t know what that something is, but it’s going to be pretty fucking big. With evolution comes revolution, and I fear that we may be backstabbed.”

General Oliver stood up from his desk and began to pace. “If the Courier intended to betray us, we would have been betrayed during the second battle for Hoover Dam, not after.” He stopped and asked the major, “What can you build with a fuck-ton of metal, electronics, power packets, a private army, and an unlimited source of energy from Hoover Dam and Helios One?”

Major Reed sighed. “Super weapons, more robots, a fortress, a rocket ship, just about anything!”

**Author's Note:**

> The prize of Vault 22 was data that explained how the inhabitants were able to grow abundant plant life in a condition in which it would have been impossible to do so. This would obviously be a life-changing discovery, had it fallen into the right hands. 
> 
> So, the Courier and Boone, along with the other soldiers, would have gotten down into a deeper level and then been ambushed by the main enemy: vault dwellers mutated into spore plant monsters. Pretty cool, right? 
> 
> Anyways, the Courier, being the Courier of YOUR own imagination, would've used a combination of all the possible skills in Fallout to escape with Boone and the Sergeant. Hildern wasn't going to survive, but I obviously didn't get to write any of that. So, what was the Courier's big plan? 
> 
> Build a GECK. A Genesis Device that eradicates everything to create a brand new ecosystem. These GECKS were built to repopulate an irradiated earth after the fallout. 
> 
> Yes, the Courier was using Big Mountain as a base of operations, gathering supplies and fortifying the location to build a GECK. It would be revealed to the reader that the Courier realized that if there was ANY hope of ending this brutal life of a post-apocalypse, creating a world where you didn't need to carry a gun everywhere you went, the Courier was the only one who even had a CHANCE of making it happen.
> 
> Part three of this series would have been as follows: 
> 
> The NCR, spurred on by curiosity and fear, reveal their suspicions of the Courier to their new ally, the Brotherhood of Steel. Sifting through their databanks, they would come across the GECK, and deduce that the Courier was building one. The allied forces would realize that activating a GECK in the Mojave would literally kill everyone, so they decide to stop the Courier. By force.
> 
> The allied forces would locate Big Mountain and unite with all other factions that the Courier had spared and strengthened (Followers of Apocalypse, Great Khans, and even POWs of Caesar's Legion) to assault the fortress.
> 
> The Courier and his/her companions would utilize all of the kick-ass weaponry in the game to fend off the massive assault. Veronica, Arcade, and Boone would choose to stand by the Courier's side, even against their former factions. Minefields, Roboscorpions, and Securitrons would be their key defenses. 
> 
> Because NCR was still reeling from the losses of their war against the Legion, not even uniting with the others would be enough, and the Courier would triumph. It would be revealed at the beginning, however, that the Courier was going to use modified nuclear missiles from Lonesome Road to distribute much smaller blasts of the GECK across already desolate locations in the Mojave. 
> 
> And so, with NCR wiped out from the fatal misunderstanding, the Courier would use his/her reputation, companions, and half organic, half mechanical forces to enact the Wild Card ending that you get in the game.
> 
> I also wanted to write in the Lone Wanderer being called in to fight the Courier by the Brotherhood. LW would use his/her alien ship from the Mothership Zeta dlc to "transport" around the world.


End file.
